Being Older
by TreesAreSnazzy
Summary: Once, being the big brother meant something. -Teen!Chesters- 14 and 18.-


_Hi there! This is my first Supernatural fanfic, though I'm a huge fan of the series. I appreciate any criticism, as any learning writer does, though I will say that if it has to do with Sam being out of character, I probably mostly agree with you. I doubt that Sam would call up Bobby and bitch him out because I think he respects Bobby a lot, maybe even more than he did John, but it just fit with the story. So, that being said, I hope you enjoy this!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters._

* * *

It wasn't as if it was late, Dean thought as he trudged up the narrow stairway to go wake his little brother. _I was being nice by waiting this long to get him._

The Winchester brothers were spending an undetermined amount of time with Uncle Bobby. In the past week Sioux Falls had been hit by four snowstorms, leaving a bumpy blanket of snow over the salvage yard and no driveway to speak of.

Bobby called Dean early and had left even earlier. There was a slight depression in the white expanse where his truck had previously been parked, the edges softened with downy drift. Dean stared out the window, his ear to the old dial phone (the only one in the house without a shred of masking tape and magic marker labeling). Bobby asked him to wake Sam so they could shovel, suggesting they get it done before afternoon when the sun will have surely melted it just enough to be back-breakingly heavy but still very much there. Dean had of course agreed; though he gave Sam an extra hour in bed, not to mention with the intent of giving the little princess an hour to sniffle himself awake on the couch.

Dean was even nice enough not to kick the door open, as he normally would've, but rather walked in on quiet feet and sat down carefully in the crook made by Sam's bent legs.

A gentle hand wrapped around Sam's shoulder and shook. "Sammy … Hey, Sammy, you gotta get up. It's eleven o'clock and Uncle Bobby asked us to shovel."

Sam groaned, slapping two sleep-warmed hands over his eyes.

Dean smirked, eyes traveling over the heavy quilt that lay over his brother. _Nah, too much,_ he decided, when the thought of yanking the blankets away surfaced. _But_ … his gaze landed on the big, bare feet that lay exposed beyond the limits of the blanket. _You need a whole separate bed for those things,_ he thought. Then he extended just one finger and brushed it across the bottom of Sam's foot, ever so lightly.

And the sound that escaped his little brother was like none he'd ever heard from any supernatural creature. It was a roar of fury, Sam's eyes screwed up tight as he bellowed, "DEAN. GO. AWAY. I had a rough night and didn't go to bed until three so GET the HELL OUT."

Dean sat down on the floor. He shouldn't have been surprised, considering the way that Sam spoke to their father the majority of the time, but he was. Once there had been a time when Sam didn't swear _at_ anyone, especially not Dean. Once there had been a time when Sam would've put up a fuss, but ultimately agreed for the sake of … well, for the sake of life; knowing that some things just need to be done because they just did. But ever since finding out what their father really did for a living, Sam had become increasingly hostile to orders and especially to orders that were followed by the phrase, "because it needs to be done."

Dean hated to fuel the fire. He'd soothe Sam to silence when he worked himself into a fury, would either attempt to play peacemaker or simply remove himself from the room when Sam and Dad got going, spitting at each other from opposite ends of a motel room. But this? This was _shoveling. _This was _ridiculous._

Dean shook his head, jaw set. Then he gripped the edges of the quilt and pulled. Sam responded with another earth-shattered shout and a stern kick to the chest, sending Dean tumbling back into the mess that was Sam's stuff. Dean lifted his hands, examining the area carefully. It looked to be mostly books and clothes but no sooner had he determined this Sam was jumping out of bed hollering, "you're going to break something! Get out, get out!"

Now Dean was really angry. Clambering to his feet he pointed at Sam accusingly. "No Sam," he said. "This is ridiculous. Bobby said we had to do something so we're going to do it and that's an-"

Sam shoved Dean before he could finish speaking. Dean watched his retreating back as he stomped out of the room.

Dean picked up a Sherlock Holmes book, examined it dully, then dropped it on Sam's bed. He listened to Sam's angry voice on the telephone. Because, stupid with sleep, Sam called the number Bobby had left on a scrap of newspaper in the center of the kitchen table. Bobby wouldn't yell at Sam like their father would but he wasn't going to take Sam's prima donna crap either.

Dean didn't know when Sam had gotten so mean. And that killed him because Dean knew, Dean knew better than even Sam himself, that Sam wasn't a mean person. He was as sensitive of a little fairy as they come, even if he was stubborn. In fact, it was one of Sam's most redeeming qualities because you just had to see Sammy after he'd been mean to anyone. If he'd been rude to dad earlier in the day, come nighttime you'd catch him, his forehead wrinkled as he puzzled to himself how he could ever make dad "like" him again. To see the way he'd forgo any fear of chick-flick moments and hug dad out of the blue, allowing just one hopeful, so sorry smile before scampering to another room in embarrassment.

Dean always loved Sam but in those moments, he was proud to be his brother. Dean didn't realize it, but he had always assumed that sweet Sammy, who would listen to anything he said, felt the same way about him. That he was proud that Dean was his big brother.

Well, Dean could hardly see what being older meant anymore. He'd do anything to protect Sam, but did he want it? Sure, Dean had been caught off-guard and it wasn't as if he felt like starting a brawl so early in the day, but Sam had kicked him to the ground pretty easily. Sam was so smart, always doing so well in school and sometimes he could even beat Uncle Bobby in a research race, why should he listen to Dean? Just because Dean was his big brother?

"-No, Bobby, don't tell Dean to wake me up! I shouldn't be yanked out of bed by my older brother just because he feels like it-"

Dean didn't understand how a kid could be so angry over being woken up.

"Bitch," he murmured to himself, shaking his head. Well, he was angry at Sam.

But, he realized as he followed a very sullen Sam down the steps into the white sea of snow, he was more ashamed than anything.


End file.
